Dead Man Walking
by Namiko-kii
Summary: AU. Years after Sam runs away at the age of 16, John and Dean Winchester stumble upon him at Stanford, while investigating the death of his fiancee. Now they must become part of his lives once more, even as they struggle to get the demon behind it all.
1. Dead Man Walking

**FDisclaimer: **This is an AU story based on the world of _Supernatural. _All characters, locations, situations, etc, present within the show are the copyrighted property of Eric Kripke. I make no claim to these products, no money is being made from them, and no copyright infringement is intened. The following characters, however, are original characters and are therefore my own property: Charlie Morgan and Alaric Resoi. (This list will be updated as the story progresses.)

**A/N - A Brief History of DMW: **The basic idea for Dead Man Walking was originally presented in a challenge by my friend, a_ngel smile101. _After several weeks in which no one claimed the idea - despite quite a few people showing interest in the concept - I decided to take it up. Thus, Dead Man Walking was born. For anyone who would like to read the original challenge, it can be found listed as a normal story under the name 'Return of the Winchesters'. And now, on with the show. Oh, and that reminds me - each chapter will read roughly like an episode, that is, an introductory bit, and then a 'title segment' followed by the rest of the chapter. I'm playing around with a few ideas, and if things work out and I finish this properly, I might even include a little summary flashback like on the show for a few 'episodes'.

**Rating: **T, due to occassional swearing, some references to death/violence/semi-gore (trust me, not anywhere near as bad as some of the episodes of the actual show - does anyone remember the episode with the girl between the walls, or the one with Alastair and the torture?) and minor/occassional adult themes.

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" Sam asked.

"Honestly, I think you look like a prat."

Sam was standing in a clothes store, trying on a suit for his upcoming law school interview. With him was his best friend Charlie, a twenty-two year old Briton who – after five years in America – was yet to lose his accent and turn of phrase.

"No. Seriously. What do you think?"

"I mean it," laughed Charlie. "But don't worry, for all I know those big law types love prats and it'll only take one look at this suit before they hire you and make you into their star lawyer or whatever it is you people do at law school." He paused for a second than said, more seriously, "You'll be fine, though. Honest."

Sam turned back to the changing room mirror, examining his image in the mirror. He groaned in frustration. "I knew I should have brought Jessica along – she's always been good at this stuff." He closed the door of the changing room and began to get changed back.

"Oh, yeah. How is the _fiancée, _anyway?" asked Charlie with a grin. "Still getting over the shock that you actually managed to pop the question?"

"Shut up," said Sam, but there was no bite to his words. He'd been planning his proposal to Jessica for ages – had had the ring for over a month – but it had been a surprise even to him, when, in the middle of a date at a restaurant two days ago, he'd got down on one knee and proposed. She'd said yes, and promptly squeezed the life out of him a moment later. Well, not literally, but she did have a pretty mean hug. Sam smiled at the memory, and then, back in his own clothes now, opened the door and stepped outside. "Speaking of which, I'd better be getting home," he said.

"Man... you're no fun anymore," lamented Charlie. "You still coming to Zack's house-warming party next week? Res said he'll bring the beer."

"Yeah. See ya."

From the store, it was only a short drive to Sam and Jessica's house. Holding the bag that held his newly-bought suit, Sam inserted his house key into the lock and opened the door with as little sound as possible, just in case Jess was asleep. "Jess?" he called. "You home?" There was no response, so he walked through the house, and up the stairs to their room.

God, it had been such a long day. First he'd been going through all his papers and scores in order to compile his application for law school, and then there'd been shopping for the suit, which took surprisingly a lot of time. Sure, Sam was used to going clothes shopping occasionally, mostly with Jess there, 'suggesting' what to buy. Man, she could be so unsubtle sometimes, though Sam with a smile.

Feeling exhausted, Sam lay down on his bed and closed his eyes.

For a moment he lay there, just thinking. But then he felt something – almost like a drop of water hitting his head. _The roof better not be leaking, _he thought. Another drop hit him, right on the middle of his fore head.

Annoyed now, Sam opened his eyes... and instantly wished he hadn't.

"No!"

Staring straight down at him, with blank dead eyes, was Jessica. A bleeding wound had been torn through her stomach, and she was pinned to the roof itself by some unseen force, her legs pressed against the plaster at unnatural angles.

Sam only had a moment to process this ghastly image before, suddenly, fire erupted around Jessica's body, consuming her. Reacting on instinct, Sam got up and ran, hoping wildly that what he had just seen was a lie – an illusion – but somehow knowing that it wasn't.

He'd been found.

* * *

**S U P E R N A T U R A L**

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**" DEAD MAN WALKING "**

* * *

**LINCOLN, NABRASKA**

**6 YEARS AGO**

There was a fight going on at the Winchester household. Well, to be more accurate, it was the Winchester whatever-dodgy-hotel-we-happen-to-be-staying-in-at-the-moment, but that was beside the point, thought Dean with a sigh. If only Sam and Dad would just stop arguing for once.... Maybe he could just get a bit of peace and quiet.

This time, they'd barely even gotten to the room before they started arguing. They hadn't even had time to unpack – Sam's bag was still just sitting there near the door, right where he'd dropped it when the fight began.

"And what if I don't want to be like that, Dad? What if I don't want to spend the rest of my life, hunting things that aren't even supposed to be real?What if I want to be _normal, _huh?" shouted Sam.

"We aren't normal, Sam. We're too important for that. We're _hunters_," bellowed John in return.

Sam shook his head angrily. "You know what," he said, "I'm out of here." He turned his back on his father and his brother, grabbed the backpack lying at his feet, slung it over his shoulder and headed for the door. He had one hand on the doorknob when John's voice, dangerously low, came from behind him.

"If you walk through that door, don't you ever think about coming back."

Sam looked back for a moment and then said, almost to himself...

"Don't worry. I won't."

_Slam._

_---_

A mile out from Lincoln, a half-battered truck was making its way along the highway when all of a sudden it stopped. Standing on the side of the road, staring aimlessly ahead of him, was a sixteen year old boy. Tall for his age, with brown hair that fell just over his eyes, the kid was just standing there. No backpack. No bags. Nothing.

"You okay, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," replied the teenager.

"Whatever. You alright, though?"

"I guess."

"Got somewhere you need to be?"

"Not really. Somewhere... away."

"Huh. Any idea how you're going to get there?"

"Nope." For a moment the two were silent, both looking at each other, and then the kid said, "What about you? Where're you going?"

"Palo Alto, California. Stanford Uni. Heard of it?"

The boy nodded and said, "Can I come too?"

The driver was taken aback. "You sure about that? It's a long way to there and, I mean, you don't know me, I could be some sort of freak. One of those highway serial killers."

The boy smiled wryly. "Don't worry – if you are, I can look after myself."

Shaking his head, the driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. The kid hopped in without hesitation. As the driver restarted the engine, the kid looked over at him and said, "I'm Sam."

The driver glanced over at him with a slight smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Alaric Resoi; although most people just call me Res..."

* * *

**STANFORD, PALO ALTO**

**PRESENT DAY**

A black Chevy Impala glided down the road, mullet rock music playing from the stereo. No other cars were travelling across this stretch of highway, just outside Palo Alto. The sides of the roads were lined by oak trees, the dark leaves not managing to obscure the bright sunlight that illuminated the black surface of the road.

"So," said Dean, his hands on the wheel, staring at the road ahead, "are you going to tell me what's so urgent about this job that we had to pack up from hunting that wraith and travel half-way across the country?"

John sighed and glanced at the road. For a moment he just watched the broken white line zip past. At last he said, "I think we've got word on the demon."

Dean turned his head to look at his dad. "Wait. _The _demon? As in, big-bad-yellow-eyes?"

"Yeah." John nodded.

"Whoa." A moment's silence, and then Dean continued, "so, what happened? I mean, what's the lead?"

"A girl named Jessica Moore, at Stanford Uni, died last week," recited John. "Reports say that it was a house fire, and that the corpse that was recovered showed signs of major wounds to the stomach. Just like..." He trailed off.

"Just like Mom," muttered Dean.

John nodded.

For a while, both of them were silent as they drove along down the highway. John stared at the road once more, lost in his thoughts, while Dean contemplated the idea of actually catching the bastard that had killed their mom.

Ever since Mary had died, his dad had been obsessed with finding that demon. Well, not obsessed. He was driven, yeah, but that was because he needed to be – in order to catch the thing. Besides, it wasn't like they were only after the demon. They hunted other things too, and saved lives in the process. So they didn't get to stay in one place, and so life was often pretty rough – it was worth it, for what they did.

_Sam didn't think so, _muttered a little voice in Dean's head. _Sam... _It had been six years since the fight that had driven Sam from their lives. Dean didn't doubt that Sam had survived – but there were moments when, like now, his thoughts would turn to his little brother and he would wish that things had turned out differently.

They hadn't heard from him since that day. No letters, no calls – nothing. For the first year or so after Sam had left, in every town they'd visited John would stop and ask the local police station 'have you heard anything about a kid named Sam?' Dean pretended not to notice the bleak look on his dad's face whenever John arrived back from his visit to the LEOs. Eventually, though, John gave up, stopped asking at the stations, stopped keeping a picture of Sam in his pocket to show as a reference. Sam became just another member of their family who was gone forever.

To be honest, Dean had no idea where Sam _could_ have gone. Sure, he'd picked up a thing or two about living of the land – but was that honestly the type of life Sam would choose? According to the very last argument he and John had had, Sam wanted a normal life. But how would he have achieved that with no money and no real home to speak of?

Sitting beside Dean, John's thoughts were running along a similar line, only with one difference. He _knew_ that Sam had money – or at least, he'd had it at one stage. About three or four months after Sam's disappearance, a goodly amount of money had vanished from one of the bank accounts John had set up. Although he'd tried, he hadn't been able to trace it, but somehow John knew that Sam had taken the money.

How, he didn't know, but of that much he was certain.

At last, the Impala reached the top of the final hill. John and Dean looked out the window, down onto the town of Palo Alto. At the centre of the town, they could see the grey-white buildings of Stanford University.

---

When John and Dean walked into the police station a half-hour later, they were already in full Hunt mode. They were dressed in suits, with badges in hand.

"Agents Glover and Lord. We're with the FBI," said John, showing the fake ID to the local officer standing nearest to the door. "We were sent to investigate the death of Jessica Moore."

The officer looked up. "What does FBI want with a local fire?"

"We've been investigating a series of similar incidents across the country."

"Okay then." The officer went over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. "Here you go – witnesses, incidents of the event, the lot." John took the file and immediately turned and left. Dean shrugged at his father's behaviour and, after saying, "Thanks," to the officer, followed John out of the station.

Another officer came up to the first after they were gone. "What was all that about?"

"Two FBI people, investigating the death of that girl in the fire."

"Huh. That's weird."

"I know – that makes three this week..."

---

According to the file they had been given, the house where Jessica Moore lived had been white, with a classic look to it that matched every other home in the street. But now, it was nothing more than a pile of burnt rubble with police tape around it. The street itself was mostly empty, although every now and again a car would drive past, slowing down as its owners rubbernecked at the scene next to them.

It was through this rubble that John and Dean picked their way, searching for any clues as to what had happened. It was difficult – most possible evidence having been destroyed by the fire, but at last Dean picked something up. The device he was holding began to beep, just as he waved it over one of the many fallen ceiling beams.

Dean picked up the beam and sniffed it. "Dad," he called. "We've got sulphur."

John came over immediately, and examined the piece of charred wood. "You're right. Looks like this is the spot." A grin appeared on his face – but not a happy one. "We're getting close to that bastard now," said John.

Dean frowned but said nothing, listening as John began pacing through the rubble and tried to think up a plan for how to continue.

They were interrupted however by an almost shrill voice. "Excuse me, _what _do you think you're doing?"

The two Hunters turned around to see a prim looking old lady staring at them.

"We're FBI, ma'am," said Dean with his trademark grin. "Just checking out the crime scene."

The lady looked flustered. "Oh, my apologies. It's just... Becky told me to make sure no rubberneckers came looking through the sight – said she and her brother wanted to come back later, see if they could save anything."

"Who's Becky?" asked Dean.

"She is... _was _one of Jess's friends."

"Do you know where we could find her?"

"Oh, yes. She and her brother live just a block or two away from here. I could give you directions if you like."

Dean turned to his father, happy that he had helped with the hunt. John nodded and said, "That would be excellent."

---

_Ding-dong, _rang the bell.

Dean stepped back from the front door of Rebecca Warren's house as, a moment later, it swung open. Standing there was a woman of around twenty years. She was rather short, with medium length blonde hair, and blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" she said, her customary happiness showing even through the bags under her eyes and the sadness in them.

"Are you Rebecca Warren?"

"Please, call me Becky."

"Well, Becky. We need to ask you a few questions about Jessica Moore," said John.

Instantly the small trace of happiness vanished, and she sighed. "Come in. Come in," said 'Becky' and she waved them inside.

---

"God, it's so tragic," said Becky, staring almost uncomprehendingly out the window. "They were going to get married... Start a family and everything... And now..." She stopped, burying her face in her hands.

Bored of dealing with overly emotional bystanders, Dean stood up and begun to look around the room. John on the other hand immediately seized upon what Becky had said, and leaned forward, fixing his steely gaze on her once more.

"Who was she getting married to?" he asked, his voice sharp and urgent.

By now, Dean had wandered over to the other side of the room, where he paused, staring at one particular photo.

"John..." he began quietly, only to be cut off by his dad.

"Not now, Dean." John turned back to Becky. "Now, tell me who she was marrying."

Becky looked up at him, a faint amount of suspicion in her gaze. "Don't you know?"

John shook his head. "Our superior didn't give us a lot of information – we like to draw our own conclusions."

"John..." came Dean's voice again, more forcefully this time.

Becky glanced between the two of them, her suspicion increasing. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but he wouldn't do it. He loved her – they were totally in love, it was like one of those fairytales – they were going start a family. He was trying out for a law school, only bought the suit a couple of hours before Jess died."

"Just tell me his name."

Finally, Dean, who had had enough of being ignored, gave up any attempts at subtlety and yelled. "Dad!"

John stood up, and stared at his son. "What?" he snapped.

"Take a look at this photo," said Dean simply.

John stepped forward, shaking his head. His composure changed a moment later, however, when he actually saw the photo in Dean's hands.

Standing in front of one of the university's main buildings was a group of people. Becky was there, as well as a young man who was probably her brother. A grinning redhead was standing next to them, and a taller, older guy was in the background, a half-smile on his face. The victim – Jessica Moore was standing in the centre of the photo, a blissful expression lighting up her features. And there... with one arm around her...

John stared as he took the photo from Dean, his hands shaking as he did so. Behind him, Becky stared at the strange reactions he was witnessing, but answered the question she had been asked all the same.

"Sam. She was engaged to Sam."

* * *

**LARAMIE, WYOMING**

**6 YEARS AGO**

The diner that Sam and Res had stopped at could easily have been transported from another era. The walls were covered in faded posters proclaiming the tours of bands long since separated, and cliché booths were tucked into every corner. The colours – washed out greens, blues and reds – reminded Sam of shows he'd seen on daytime TV when Dad was out on a hunt. They'd been set in the sixties and the characters had always met up at places like this.

There were only a few other people in the diner when the two of them entered – a couple snuggling in one of the booths, and a teenage girl with blonde hair and a leather jacket, talking animatedly into her mobile phone while fiddling with her necklace. She glanced up from her conversation as Res and Sam entered, before quickly looking away once more.

They sat down at one of the normal tables, and waited in awkward silence until the waitress came over to take their orders. "I'll have an Option Five," said Res, calmly ignoring the way the waitress was smiling flirtatiously at him. "He'll have two." When she refused to go away, he turned to look at her and said, "Well?"

The waitress pouted at his obvious disinterest, and walked away. The awkward silence returned once more.

"So, kid–" Res said eventually.

"It's Sam."

"So, _Sam_, why are you running away?"

"How do you know that's what I'm doing?" Sam asked evasively. Purely on instinct, he glanced at the door, wondering how long it would take him to get there if Res tried to send him back to Dad, or if the seemingly nice guy turned out to be a demon in disguise. It would be just his luck to hitch a ride with a demon.

Res must have noticed the movement, because he sighed and said, "Look, I'm not going to turn you in or anything. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on."

"Why would you care?"

"Well, a strange kid turned up on the side on the road a couple of hours ago and asked me for a lift. He had just one backpack, you see, and didn't really seem to care where he went – just that he got away. Now, I said yes and since then the kid has barely talked to me, and seems to be just a touch paranoid. Sound familiar?"

Sam grimaced – why couldn't people just leave him alone? All he wanted was a normal life, one that wasn't filled with monsters and demons and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night. Why did that have to be so difficult a concept? He felt Res's measured gaze still on him and squirmed, uncomfortable.

He wanted to run, and just keep on running, but at the same time he knew his chances of getting a lift with someone else were pretty slim.

Besides, he'd heard of Stanford, and Palo Alto, and there was a school nearby there that he could go to – if he found enough money. Best of all, his dad had never been there, so there was nobody to remember a grizzled man pretending to be a cop or the like, and his two teenage sons.

Deciding that he could do a lot worse than to answer Rick's question, Sam looked up. "My dad wants me to join the family business," he said carefully. It was a half-lie he had used before, so he knew how to make it work. "I didn't want to, so I got out the only way I could think of..."

"With only a backpack?"

"Yeah, well, I was in a hurry."

Res looked at him for a moment, then shrugged, seemingly accepting his story. Sam gave an inward sigh of relief. Before either of them could say anything else, however, their food arrived, and they dug in.

For the next ten or so minutes the conversation turned to more trivial things, like sports and cars. Sam knew quite a bit about the latter – hanging around Dean tended to have that effect – although not so much about the former.

He soon found that Res was quite easy to talk with, the older boy's almost rough appearance belying his laid-back manner. He was pretty serious, yeah, but he was also funny – and soon the two of them were chatting casually, the tension from before having evaporated.

After their meals were done, they left the diner, Res paying the flirty waitress quickly and without batting an eyelid at her continued attempts to flirt with her.

As they exited, Sam asked, "Why'd you do that?"

"Huh?" said Res, as he searched his pocket for his car keys.

"Why didn't you ask her what time she got off? Or flirt with her, or something?" Sam asked, honestly bewildered. The only real example of how nineteen or twenty-year olds acted was Dean, and he knew that his brother would have at least asked for the girl's number.

Res shrugged. "I wasn't interested." He looked at Sam, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"It's just..." Sam paused, as he thought about how far he was willing to trust Res. "It's what my brother would do."

Res raised an eyebrow.

Until now, Sam hadn't mentioned Dean at all. The topic of his family had been completely dropped after his earlier 'confession' and not once in their talk of cars and such had Sam admitted to having a brother.

Before Res could comment on this, however, something strange happened. A black column of smoke appeared from nowhere, and was sucked, vacuum-like, into Res, whose body shuddered as the demon took control.

Sam staggered backwards, cursing his luck while at the same time reaching desperately into his backpack for something – anything – that could help.

The demon that had possessed Res staggered forward, momentarily disorientated by its new body. When it looked up at Sam, its eyes were pure black, staring at him almost hungrily.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" snarled the demon, and Sam shuddered as he heard Res's voice – which had only moments ago sounded rather contented – filled with malice. "A little boy, all on his own? What shall we do with you?"

It stepped towards him, reaching out for Sam and wriggling slightly, as if adjusting to the shape of Res's form.

Panicking, Sam lurched backwards again, his hand still frantically searching for a tool that could help him.

"You're a nice one," said the demon. "But you smell... odd." He stretched out his hand again, and grabbed Sam's arm, his grip almost vicelike as he squeezed just above his wrist, making Sam wince.

Just then, Sam felt his free hand close around something cool and metal. Without pausing to think, he whipped the bottle out of the bag, pulling the stopper off with his teeth, and then flung its contents at the demon-possessed Res.

The demon howled as the holy water contacted with its skin and Sam wretched his arm free of its grip. A few moments later the black smoke began to pour from Res's mouth, as the demon escaped, no doubt to go find a host without friends equipped to attack it.

With the demon gone, Res collapsed onto his knees, panting heavily. At last he looked up at Sam. Sam flinched as he saw horror and confusion etched on the face of someone who he, despite only knowing for a short time, had already begun to call a friend.

"What the hell was that?" gasped Res.

Sam searched for words for a moment, and then gave the only answer he could think of.

"The family business."


	2. Yesterday's Reunion

**Disclaimer: **This is an AU story based on the world of _Supernatural. _All characters, locations, situations, etc, present within the show are the copyrighted property of Eric Kripke. I make no claim to these products, no money is being made from them, and no copyright infringement is intened. The following characters, however, are original characters and are therefore my own property: Charlie Morgan and Alaric Resoi. (This list will be updated as the story progresses.)

**A/N: **Sorry for the huge delay on this one - real life, combined with working on the continuity of this chapter, combined with what I must admit to be laziness on my part meant that posting this chapter kept getting pushed further and further down my priority list. I'm really sorry about that, and I hope you forgive me... Anyway, on with the show!

* * *

Sam stared up at the ceiling, not daring to fall asleep.

Only nightmares awaited him if he did so – burning, twisting nightmares that would leave him gasping for air like someone sucked back from hell. If he fell asleep, he would watch it all over again, Jess staring back at him with dead, empty, _accusing_ eyes, and the utter sense of helplessness that overwhelmed him again and again. God damn it, he was supposed to have put that all behind him. Six years he'd been gone now, and apart from that first incident with Res there'd been not a single demon in his life. No other monsters, either, apart from the regular human kind – the school bullies and then the uni ones. Absolutely nothing supernatural. But now it was back, that fear of the dark that had tormented him as a kid, and it had stolen the one thing he loved most of all.

So he did the only thing he could, and stayed awake – never mind the fact that he hadn't slept at all in the last forty-eight hours, and never for more than three hours in the week since Jess's death – and it was now almost ten o'clock – staring at the ceiling.

The sound of Res's door bell – loud, insistent and trilling – shattered Sam's self-indulgent melancholy.

For a moment he lay there, hoping that the sound would stop, but when it became obvious that Res was – as usual – sleeping right through it, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a dark gray button-up that he had dropped on the floor the night before, and went to get the door.

The lights were off, and the curtains pulled down so much that no light shone through the small gaps in the hedges that lined the outside of Res's house, but Sam had been round to Res's place enough that he knew the general position of things and so was able to make it down the hall in relative darkness with only one or two bumps into furniture, and some corresponding swear words.

At last he reached the door, his hand fumbling in the darkness as he found the knob. A small line of salt stretched across the bottom of the door - protection installed by Res after Sam had told him the true nature of Jessica's death – _burning, twisting – no, not now, mustn't remember – _but Sam couldn't bring himself to care at that moment about the possibility of demons, waiting on the other side of the door. Jess was gone – and it was all his fault.

He pushed down on the handle and swung the door open, breaking the protective white line as he did so.

The first thing Sam saw, after his eyes had adjusted to the sudden change in light levels, was Becky. Her blonde hair was slightly awry, as if she'd been running her fingers through the ends, like she did when she was nervous, and her hands were clasped anxiously in front of her.

"Hi, Sam..." she said quickly. "Sorry to b-bother you, but they really wanted to see you..." She trailed off as Sam stared blankly at her, then she glanced at the previously unnoticed people standing behind her.

Sam's gaze shifted from Becky to the two strangers. For a moment, he didn't recognise them, and then his sleep-deprived brain kicked in, and he knew who they were.

Dean and John Winchester. His brother and father.

* * *

**S U P E R N A T U R A L**

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**" YESTERDAY'S REUNION "**

BY NAMIKO-KII

* * *

**PALO ALTO, CALEFORNIA**

**6 YEARS AGO**

Res backed the car into the driveway of his aunt and uncle's car. Beside him, Sam was fidgeting, and Res could almost imagine what was going through the younger boy's mind. After the incident with the demon, Sam had explained the truth about his family to Res – although something told him Sam might still be keeping back a few details. Still, he'd told him about his mother's death, the way he'd been shipped from town to town – wherever the job was, his brother's renegade behaviour, and his father's refusal to let him live a normal life. Res had asked a couple of questions – to clear up facts about the various creatures Sam mentioned – but for the most part he just let Sam talk.

After that, things had almost... relaxed. Neither of them was completely sure what was going on – Sam in terms of what he was going to do next, Res in terms of the fact that he'd just discovered there was a whole world he didn't know about – but they had both figured that it was best to stick together and hope things worked out.

They talked, mostly about random things, their interests and such, and Res told Sam about his comparatively normal life: raised in Atlanta - schooled there too – Res had recently applied for Stanford's Engineering course, having been unable to get a course closer to home and wishing to distance himself from his parents anyway, and now, with his application successful, he was travelling across the country to Pal Alto, where he would stay with his aunt and uncle while attending the university.

Eventually, between the various conversations and pit stops, the two of them had become good friends.

Now, however, the trip was over, and Res could pretty much guess what Sam was thinking. Where would he go now – stuck in a strange city with no money and no possessions other than what he carried in his backpack? How would he pay for school? How would he have a normal life?

Things didn't look good for Sam.

_Well, _thought Res as he and Sam got out of the car, _it's a good thing I've got a plan. _

Res walked around the back and snatched his bags out, dumping them at his feet a second later.

"Well, this is the place," he said.

For a moment, both of them were silent, then Res added, "So, where you going to go?"

"I dunno. I'll find some place."

"Really?"

Sam glanced at Res and then away again, fidgeting with the bottle of (normal) water in his hands. "Yeah."

"Sam," said Res, cutting straight to what he wanted to say. "You saved my life, you know."

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

Res sighed. If there was one thing he'd learnt over this trip, it was that Sam, despite being rather smart, could be very slow sometimes. "You did." He paused, getting his thoughts in order. His gaze shifted from Sam, back to his aunt and uncle's place. "It's a cool house, isn't it?"

"Yeah... And?"

"_And_ it's kind of big too. My aunt and uncle don't have any kids – but they got a big house anyway. Seems stupid if you ask me. Even with me staying here while I go to Stanford, there's still going to be a couple of spare rooms."

"What's your point?" snapped Sam, but Res continued as if he hadn't heard.

"Good location as well. There's a bunch of shops that way and this street's pretty close to the local middle school too. You're still in year ten, right?"

At last, understanding dawned on Sam. The teenager turned to Res, a look of near-disbelief on his face. "You serious?" He completely ignored Res's actual question.

"Sure. Like I said, you saved my life."

* * *

**PALO ALTO, CALEFORNIA**

**PRESENT DAY**

Sam stared at the people in front of him – his father, his brother, his friend and then, without a word, turned away and began to walk down the corridor – now lit by the sunlight pouring in through the door. For her part, Becky glanced between Sam and the people she now knew to be his family, and wordlessly signalled for them to follow her. The four of them made their way to the living room, where Sam sat down on the couch, before burying his face in his hands. "God," he whispered. Dean and John remained standing.

Silence filled the room – no one wanted to be the first to speak. At last, still staring straight at the floor, Sam said, "What are you doing here?" He missed the crestfallen expression on Dean's face at these words.

"We heard about the girl," said John. "Figured it must be the demon, came looking for it. Found you instead." Dean winced.

"That's it?"

"Well, what else did you expect me to say?" snapped John, clearly annoyed at the lack of response he was getting from his son. "You vanished, Sam, clean off the map. No way we could find _you._"

Sam looked up. For a moment his eyes showed all the emotions that were churning in his mind – anger, guilt, sadness, grief, confusion. "I expected-" he began. Then he shook his head, and he closed off again. "I can't deal with this right now."

He got up and walked straight out of the room, closing the door cleanly behind him.

As soon as it clicked shut, Becky sighed. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "He hasn't been himself lately. Jess's death hit him really hard." She paused. "It hit us all really hard."

"Were you close?" asked Dean, ignoring the look his father gave him. If John wanted to focus on Sam's attitude, fine, but Dean wanted to actually find something out about the people his brother had been closest to these last six years.

"Not really. I mean, we got along – and I was happy for them. But I knew Sam first, you know?" said Becky.

_No, I don't, actually, _thought Dean. Social situations – outside of one-night stands and, well, Cassie – were hardly his forte. How one got along with one's friend's partners was a closed book to him. However, all he said was, "Ah." He made his way over to the couch and sat down, musing silently in a manner that even he thought odd for him.

Just then, the door opened again. Dean stood up, half-hoping it was Sam, returning. Instead, however, another man with short hair and a red hoodie hastily thrown on stood in the doorway. An expression of distrust was on his face.

"Hi, I'm–" began Dean, figuring he might at least try and be civil with his brother's friends. However he was quickly cut off by the stranger.

"I just saw Sam," said the man. "What's going on? Who are they?" His questions were directed at Becky.

"Umm... Well," Becky stumbled for the right words. "This is Sam's family. His father, and his brother."

For a moment, the man went very quiet. Then he walked over to Dean, and without warning, punched him in the nose. Dean swore and backed away, covering his nose as a thin trail of blood began to leak through his fingers. The man turned and left the room without another word.

There was silence, then Dean said, "Who the hell was that?!"

Becky looked from side to side, as if hoping someone else would appear to explain. When no one did, she winced and said, "That was... Res. I'm so sorry, he's been really bad lately. He's sort of over-protective when it comes to Sam."

"Why would he be overprotective of _my brother?_" snarled Dean.

"Well, that's just it," explained Becky. "Sam's like his little brother."

Dean had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth, which was hanging open at these words. _What the...?_ "What are you talking about?"

Becky fiddled with her hands nervously. "Sam first showed up here – about six years ago – with Res. Apparently something had happened to his family – that would be you – and Sam needed a place to stay. Res had travelled here to stay with his aunt and uncle while he went to uni, so Sam sort of just took over the spare bedroom at their place. He joined our school, and yeah. Been living here ever since. Moved out of Res's relative's place two years ago – but he and Res are still practically brothers."

Dean blinked at the sheer amount of information imparted on him. He opened his mouth again, intending to say something, then shook his head and closed it once more. After a moment, he tried again. "I'm just... I think I'm going to go check on the car."

He glanced over at John, who nodded and stood up as well. "I''ll come too." The two of them then left the house in silence, out the way they'd came.

* * *

**PALO ALTO, CALEFORNIA**

**5 YEARS AGO**

"Hey, Sam, you going to the dance tomorrow?" called out one of a gaggle of girls as Sam's eleventh grade class made their way into the classroom. Sam nodded, blushing, and ducked inside, making sure not to glance in their direction as he sat down in his usual seat. However, he could still hear a few of them giggling. They were so immature at times.

Two desks away from him, the blonde haired Rebecca Warren – Becky to her friends – was chatting to her brother Zack. They were only ten months apart, with Becky the younger of the two. They looked nothing alike – Becky with her long blonde hair and triangular face, Zack with his short black hair and squarish jaw – and their interests had little in common, but were still very close. Zack and Sam were on the same soccer team, so Sam leaned over and joined their conversation.

"I don't care if he has an awesome hat – that does not beat having a spaceship!"

"Hey, it's not just the hat. He's also got the whip."

"Hey guys," interrupted Sam gently. "What's up?"

"Sam," said Becky, whirling around to face him. "Who's cooler – Han Solo or Indiana Jones?"

Sam grinned. "Han Solo, definitely."

"Yes!" said Becky with a smile before turning to her brother. "I win!"

Zack shook his head. "Just because Sam agrees with you does not make it cooler."

Becky ignored him. Zack leaned forward and, with a glare at Sam, said, "You're _supposed _to back me up on these things."

Sam just laughed at his friend's false anger.

Just then, Mr West, their teacher, walked in and began to call for quiet. "Settle down, class."

The class continued to talk.

"I said, settle down," he repeated, louder this time, although the class still paid him absolutely no attention.

Before things could disintegrate further, Sam turned to the majority of his class and said, "Oi, guys! Quiet." This time, the class responded, although Sam noticed a few of the giggling girls from before, continuing to send looks in his direction.

"Erm – thank you Sam," said Mr West. He fumbled with the papers on his desk for a moment, and then continued. "Class, today we have a new student." He glanced over to the door. "Let me introduce, Charles Morgan."

Into the classroom walked a very relaxed looking seventeen year old boy. He had light brown hair with a few streaks of near-red that Becky would later swear weren't natural and an unperturbed grin on his face. "Call me Charlie," he said, revealing a very prominent British accent. Once more, Sam heard the group of girls he'd been avoiding begin to giggle.

"Yes, well..." Mr West continued to look flustered. "Do you want to tell us a bit about yourself?"

"Nope," said Charlie, popping the 'p' of the word.

"Ah, erm... then, take a seat?" offered the teacher unsurely.

"Gotcha." Without another word, Charlie made his way through the rows of chairs, before sitting down in the only free seat, between Sam, and Becky.

As the teacher turned to the board and began the class, Charlie turned to Sam. "Is he always that jittery?"

Sam laughed. He was beginning to like the Brit already.

"Pretty much," he answered.

* * *

**PALO ALTO, CALEFORNIA**

**PRESENT DAY**

Charlie was sitting in the middle of a lecture when his phone rang. Ignoring the glare his teacher was giving him, he quickly flipped it open, as Res's name showing up on caller ID could only mean one thing, what with recent events. Something had happened with Sam.

However, when he put the phone to his ear, it wasn't Res's voice he heard, but Becky's. "Charlie, hey. Is this a good time?"

Charlie frowned. "Becky? What are you doing at Res's?" A few of the students around him who knew his friends gave each other looks. Charlie noticed this, and smirked despite himself. Who knew what rumours would be flying around by this time tomorrow? Still, the smile disappeared as he listened to what Becky had to say.

"I'll see you in ten," he said at last and stood up. By now, the entire class had stopped, and the teacher was staring at him with her hands on her hips.

"Well, Mr Morgan? I hope you have a good reason to disrupt my lesson?"

"Yeah," said Charlie, feeling embarrassed despite himself. "Family issues." Nobody here would contradict him – the fact that his parents were divorced, and his mother still in England although known by most, was not something people tended to feel comfortable bringing up.

"I see."

Realising this was as close to permission as he was likely to get, Charlie nodded and made his way through the seats and out of the classroom, whispering to one of his classmates to give him a copy of their notes after as he passed them.

He walked from the psych building to the student car park, where he hopped into the car his dad had given him – a present for his eighteenth that had somehow made it through the past four or so years despite what Sam called Charlie's 'Die Hard'-style driving. And he couldn't even blame it over confusion on which side to drive on – he'd moved over to America before he started driving.

Charlie got into the car and turned on the engine. He threw his bag into the back seat – he hadn't bothered to stop by his dorm on the way here – and started the car up. He glanced at his watch. Becky had said Zack would be meeting him here – so where was he?

No sooner had he thought this, however, Zack appeared, running and clutching his book bag which had a habit of falling apart. He swung the door of Charlie's car open and jumped inside, panting slightly. "Someone's out of shape," teased Charlie.

"Shut up," gasped Zack. "You try running across half the campus in two minutes flat and see how you feel."

Charlie simply smirked and began to pull out of the carpark heading towards the road. "So, Becky tell you what's going on?"

"Nah, just told me to get a lift with you to Res's. Luckily I was just in the library studying – hey, didn't you have class today?"

"Yeah. You should have seen the look on Professor Palmer's face when I full on walked out of her class."

Zack laughed. He seemed to have got his breath back. "Nice. So, want to make a guess as to what it's about? I mean, it's hardly usual for Miss Perfect-Attendance to be encouraging us – well, you – to skip class."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "What do you _think_ it's about?" Honestly, his friend could be so thick. Don't get him wrong, Zack was great – but he tended to space out on the lives of others just a bit too much. Sometimes Charlie wondered if Zack preferred his computers to actual people.

Still, Zack realised what he meant without further prodding. "Ah. Sam."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, neither bothering to turn the radio on for what was literally a five-minute drive. Res's house was close to Stanford Uni, and tended to be the place that the six friends – Charlie, Sam, Becky, Jess, Zack and Res – had hung out the most. Even with everything that had happened over the last week, it was still the first port of call when something new occurred. If you had news to tell, chances were that at least one person would be at Res's.

Charlie's car pulled up in Res's driveway just as a black Impala that he didn't recognise drove off. Frowning slightly, he got out of the car and went up to the door, Zack right behind him. Becky answered the doorbell. "Hey," she said, giving her brother a hug. "Glad you guys came so fast. I didn't get you in trouble with Professor Palmer, did I?" she added to Charlie. Everyone knew about Charlie's infamous Human Communication & Interaction teacher.

"Don't worry. I gave the whole 'family thing' excuse, and got away scot free... I hope."

Becky smiled, then sighed. "Well, you'd better come in."

Res was already in the living room, sitting slightly hunched over on the couch, and Zack and Charlie quickly took up their usual spots – Zack on the chair closest to the kitchen, and Charlie in the spot opposite the TV. Although neither had any inclination to either get food or watch the television, habit made them choose the same seats.

"So, what's up?" asked Charlie.

Becky sighed again and, glancing at Res for a moment, said, "Sam's family turned up today."

"What?" asked Charlie in disbelief, while Zack just gaped at his sister. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly. His dad and brother turned up at my house this morning, asking about Jess – they said they were FBI. But then they found out she was engaged to Sam and, well, they were pretty surprised. From what I gathered, they hadn't known Sam was here – certainly hadn't heard from him since he moved here." She glanced at Res again before continuing. "Anyway, I brought them over here. That's when things got bad. Sam completely freaked when he saw them, said he 'couldn't deal with this right now' -" she made air-quotes around the words "– and barged right out."

"Wait," interrupted Charlie, "isn't this a good thing?"

Res snorted. "You don't know them."

Becky glared at him in annoyance. "Oh, and you do?"

"Well, yeah," Res shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In any other circumstances, Charlie would have found the idea of short little Becky staring down the older, more dominating Res absolutely hilarious, but now it just seemed another sign of the absolutely crap way things were lately.

"Uh huh," said Becky, obviously not believing it for a second. "And that gave you the right to just walk in and punch Dean _how?_"

At the same time as Zack said, "Res, you did _what?_" Charlie asked, "Who's Dean?"

It was Res who answered both questions. "Dean's his brother. And, trust me, he deserved it."

"You barely know the guy!" snapped Becky, exasperatedly.

"Yeah, but you saw how Sam reacted to him showing up," countered Res. "He's been bad enough as it is, without them here to make it worse."

An awkward silence descended upon the group. At last, Charlie said, "Res is right. Not -" he added quickly, sensing Becky was about to start up again "– about the punching thing, but about Sam." He shook his head. "I mean, yeah, Jess died. It's tragic, but..." He sighed. "I guess we were all expecting angst and... and... _moodiness_, but not a clinically depressed Sam."

Becky sat down with a huge sigh, all her previous annoyance disappearing in place of sadness. "I know. Has anyone even seen him smile?"

"He looks like he's barely slept," added Zack.

"I came round yesterday," Charlie said, determined to put his two cents in with regards to his best friend's behaviour. "When he answered his door, he looked like a ghost."

"'Still think I was right to punch Dean," mumbled Res.

"Res!" snapped Charlie and Becky in unison.

"Just saying..."

For a while, they just sat there, all four friends drifting in their own thoughts. At last, Charlie stood up. "Listen, guys, I got to go. My next class is in ten minutes, and I can't miss another one."

Becky nodded. "We'll see you later then."

Without another word, Charlie strode from the room, out the house and down the path. He got into his car and pulled out of Res's driveway. Sighing, he turned on the radio and drove off.

* * *

**A/N2: **I just wanted to add a note in here to say that I am Australian and therefore will be using the spelling that I use in every day life including writing "mum" instead of "mom". I know that I 'corrected' that in the last chapter in response to a review but looking back I realise that if I corrected every inconsistency between the two spellings, not only would it be laborious and time-consuming, it would just be plain annoying to me at least. I've seen stories set in places that don't spell it one way that use the other, and so I hope I'll be excused from that.

That's all though, so I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter. In other words, please review. It's always great to read what people think of my stories - and constructive critism is loved. Flames... Well, feel free to post them but know they will be used to toast marshmellows.


	3. Previously On

**Disclaimer: **This is an AU story based on the world of Supernatural. All characters, locations, situations, etc, present within the show are the copyrighted property of Eric Kripke. I make no claim to these products, no money is being made from them, and no copyright infringement is intened. The following characters, however, are original characters and are therefore my own property: Charlie Morgan and Alaric Resoi. (This list will be updated as the story progresses.)

* * *

_If someone were to walk into here right now, _thought Dean, _it would look really suspicious._ Pictures adorned the walls – shots from Sam's burnt out house, a picture of Jessica Moore at university standing next to one of her professors – as well as various notes and pieces of mythology, the latter of which seemed redundant to Dean, as they already knew exactly what they were looking for. A demon with yellow eyes.

Were the police to enter the motel room where he and Dad were currently staying, they would no doubt come to some erroneous conclusions which could possibly lead to the two hunter's incarceration. Still, that had never seemed to stop his father from using this method before.

Right now, however, Dean was at a loss as to what they should do next. They knew of no way to track the demon's movements, and other than the fact that both of its victims had been females connected to the Winchester family, Dean could see no link between the two different cases. What had possessed the demon to attack them all of a sudden, after twenty-one and a half years with absolutely no sign of it? And what was it that caused the creature to come after _them _in the first place – other than the usual demonic desire to do evil? If Dad knew, he certainly wasn't telling. They'd had no word from Sam yet – and that was assuming the girl – Becky, wasn't it? – had passed on Dean's message to his brother about what motel they were staying.

Considering the conversation he'd had with his dad straight after leaving Sam's friend's house, he hoped that, if Sam did call, it wouldn't be Dad who answered the phone.

**YESTERDAY**

"Well, that went well," said Dean, his voice filled with sarcasm as he applied another tissue to his slowly bleeding nose. "At least he didn't break it."

His dad, standing near the Impala with both hands in his pockets and staring off into the distance (completely ignoring his son's injury), simply grunted.

"Dad, you alright? You didn't really say much in there..."

"Boy's made his own choices," said John quietly. "I guess that's something." Dean was silent. There was a slight inflection to John's voice that Dean almost recognised, but couldn't really believe. It sounded like _pride_.

"So, we going to leave?" asked Dean.

John turned to look sharply at him. Dean instantly cringed, regretting his words. "I just meant... What are the chances the demon actually sticked around?"

"We're staying," said John, the previous emotion – whatever it was – gone from his voice. "We've got a job to do."

**TODAY**

Dean sighed heavily and rolled over onto his stomach, the cheap fabric of the sheets rubbing against his skin, causing an irritation he'd learnt to ignore years ago. He reached out for his mobile, which was sitting on the bedside table, and began to punch in Bobby's number. Maybe he'd be able to help.

But he got no further than the fifth number of Bobby's mobile before the sound of someone ringing the bell of the motel room. Dean groaned but got up none the less. Dad had said he'd be back soon, but he had a key – so who was it that had come to disturb him?

Dean opened the door, half-expecting to see no-one, the bell having been rung by some idiotic teenagers. But instead he was greeted by a brown-haired man with a British accent.

"Dean, right?" asked the man.

Dean nodded and surreptitiously glanced down at the line of salt that ringed the doorway. If he was a demon, he would still be safe.

The man grinned and offered Dean his hand. "Name's Charlie. I'm a friend of your brother's. You doing anything hideously important right now?"

Dean shook his head, still suspicious.

"Right then," laughed the Brit. "Looks like you're coming with me."

* * *

**S U P E R N A T U R A L**

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**" PREVIOUSLY ON... "**

BY NAMIKO-KII

* * *

John had decided that he hated surprises.

Granted, surprises in his line of business tended to be bad. But that normally did not encourage a hatred of _all _surprises, even good ones. And there were of course, those that would consider the sudden reappearance of their long lost son a good surprise. Unfortunately for Sam, John was not one of them. John had long since accepted that his youngest son was gone. He hadn't been _glad _that Sam was gone, but he'd accepted it – known there was nothing he could do to change the fact.

For the first year, of course, he'd tried to find him – tried desperately – but after that he had simply chalked Sam up as another casualty to the Winchester life.

And now he was back.

He had no idea how to deal with that, because, even when his thoughts turned to the boy, he'd written Sam out of his life for good. The similarity of their situations had hardly helped. John knew he should comfort his son, help him through the grief he was feeling – and John _did _know what he was feeling – but somehow he couldn't.

All of this dominated his mind as he drove back to the motel, having been scouring the wreckage of Sam's house for more leads, and perhaps some answers to the questions in his troubled mind. Yet before he could come up with a good enough reason why he couldn't even offer his own son sympathy, he was interrupted by yet another one of those blasted surprises.

Pulling into the car-park next to the motel, he spotted Dean walking along the row of rooms. However, he was not alone. Next to him was a red-headed man John didn't recognise. And of course, unknown equalled untrustworthy.

Driving up to where the two of them were, John leaned forward, glaring at the redheaded man. "What's going on?" he asked, glancing at Dean, who rolled his eyes.

"Dad, this is Charlie," said Dean. "He's, well, he's Sam's friend." John stiffened slightly. What would one of Sam's friends want with them? The reactions they'd gotten out of the two they'd met so far – nervousness, and a punch in the nose to Dean respectively – did not bode well for this meeting.

"Best friend, thank you very much," inserted the redhead – Charlie – with a half-smile.

"Right," replied Dean. "Anyway," he glanced back at John, "he's offering to show us..." Dean frowned and turned to Charlie. "What exactly are you going to show us again?"

The redhead simply continued to smile vaguely at them, something that was already getting on John's nerves, and said, "I'm gonna show you what your long lost relative – that would be Sam – has been doing for the last six years."

John frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes, which caused John to narrow his eyes. He didn't have time for some fool – he had a demon to hunt. He was about to say as much – at least, the first part anyway – when Charlie said, "I guess I just thought you might want to know your son."

He turned and began to walk away.

"Nice one, Dad," muttered Dean quietly, but John heard anyway.

John sighed. For a moment he considered making Dean get in the car and then driving off for good. Curse it – if Sam didn't want their help (something he'd made clear by his sudden departure the day before), then there was no reason to give it. And yet...

"Oi!" John called. "Charlie Chaplin!"

"Yes?"

"What _exactly _did you have in mind?"

---

John watched sceptically as the redhead slid the key into the lock and swung the door open with practiced ease. "Here we are," said Charlie, stepping once more into Res's house. He flicked on the lights and beckoned them forward.

With cautious steps, John walked forward, the footsteps behind him indicating that Dean was doing the same.

They made their way back to the same room in which they had sat earlier although the room was now empty. As John watched, Charlie strolled over to a cabinet and began examining its shelves for something.

"So, where is it?" asked John bluntly.

Charlie turned to face him, an answer at the ready but then froze. John looked quizzically at him, before noticing that his gaze – not unlike that of the proverbial rabbit in the headlights – was not directed at him. "Where is what?" came a familiar voice.

John whirled around, and then he froze.

_Sam._

For a moment, his direct stare softened, and he opened his mouth to speak. But the expression on his son's face stopped him. John felt the sympathy he had been lacking earlier rise up, but before he could express any of this, Sam turned and left the room without another word.

"Well, that went well," came Charlie's voice after a moment of stillness, his tone both sarcastic and sad.

John didn't look at him, staring instead at the empty doorway where Sam had been. A contemplative silence fell over the group until at last Charlie stood up from the cabinet, a photo album in hand. "Got it," he said, his voice almost hushed.

The three of them sat down, John and Dean on the couch and Charlie on one of the seats next to them. John watched as he placed the photo album on the coffee table in front of them.

"We were making this for their wedding," explained Charlie. "It was Becky's idea. I thought... well, it's more use to you now." He leaned forward and opened it.

Staring up at them was the same group photo John had seen at Becky's place. Written below it, in a cursive script that John – somehow – knew was Becky's, was the following:

'_Congratulations, Sam and Jess. As we wish you the best in the future, here's a little bit of what came before. Sam, prepare to be embarrassed._'

John frowned at these words, trying to imagine what his scholarly second son could have done to embarrass him. Beside him, Dean grinned, probably thinking along the same line. Then, with a softness to his voice that caused Dean, he asked, "May I?", reaching for the book as he did so.

Charlie nodded, although John noticed him looking sceptically at him as he did so. John gently turned the page.

This one showed a picture of teenage versions of Sam, Charlie and another boy who looked a bit like Becky, all in soccer gear and grinning as they, along with several others, hefted a trophy in the air. A cheering coach stood near them.

"_That,_" said Charlie, "was our year eleven soccer tournament. We barely won – Sam got the last goal."

The next few pictures were of both Sam and Jess with their respective friends, generally acting like idiots. Oddly, none of these pictures had anyone in common in them – not even the other member of the couple could be seen in Sam or Jess's pictures. When Dean remarked on this, Charlie shrugged and said, "They were in different groups at school. They were both pretty popular, but Jess was more shopping trips and cheerleaders, whereas Sam," he grinned, "didn't mind hanging out with the geeks."

John looked absently up at this. None of Sam's friends that he'd met so far seemed like, well, geeks.

Charlie laughed softly. "Right, you haven't met Zack yet," he said, and left it at that.

After this, Charlie started adding more commentary to photos, and John – despite himself – was almost grateful for this. Many of the pictures seemed to be accompanied by in-jokes, either in the captions or in just the inclusion of the pictures themselves, which he would not otherwise get.

For example, on one page there were two pictures, side-by-side. The first showed Charlie, Sam and the person he now knew to be Zack the geek. They were sitting in a cell at the local police office, on one of the bunks, while the person on the opposite side of the cell took the photo. The other showed a picture of the same three sitting inside a club, while Sam and Zack looked smug. They appeared to be teasing Charlie, who sat dejectedly next to them.

"Ah," said Charlie, leaning forward. "Yes... _that_."

John raised an eyebrow and said in a direct tone, "What?"

"Okay. You see that one on the left? The one at the club? _That _was when Sam and Zack made our fake IDs." John frowned at this, but he realised he could hardly complain about his son using a fake ID, considering the stash of them he had in the front of the Impala. But Charlie wasn't done. "And that," the redhead said, pointing to the picture in the police cell, "was when I made them."

Dean burst out laughing at this, while even John chuckled slightly.

Soon the pictures moved from high school to college. As they did, there was a shift. Sam and Jess started appearing in photos together, often with one of them looking at the other in a more-than-friends manner.

Charlie explained. "The rest of us went on a road trip for about a month after high school ended. Sam didn't come – he said he'd had enough of road trips when he was a kid-" John winced "-and besides, he wanted to get a head-start on his university stuff. When we came back, Sam and Jess were friends. It took them nearly two whole years after that to realise they both liked each other" he said, rolling his eyes. "The rest of us realised long before that."

More embarrassing pictures followed this. Charlie appeared, to John, to take great delight in pointing out the odd occurrences in the photos. "This is the first time Sam got drunk," he said, gesturing to a picture of a tipsy looking Sam. Turning the page, he added, "And this is the first time he got _legally _drunk."

At one point, Charlie turned the page and practically squealed in delight, causing John to look up at him, eyebrows raised and an expression of distaste on his face. "Sorry," said Charlie, although to John's mind he didn't look it, "this is my favourite."

The picture in question was one of Sam, smiling up at the camera, with a traffic cone on his head. "Yup," grinned Charlie, leaning back proudly. "That was when we crashed a frat party." Then he pointed, with great glee, to a figure in the background. Then he intoned, his voice deadly serious, "And _that _was the first and only time Zack hooked up in college." Sure enough, a closer inspection of the photo revealed Zack and a cheerleader making out. Dean laughed a bit at this, but John remained silent.

It seemed that, along with studying which Charlie assured John Sam actually had been doing, Sam had many crazy adventures, if they could be called that, while at college. Charlie happily showed them pictures from Sam's twenty-first, a weekend long trip to Vegas that Charlie had organised. "He nearly punched me when I suggested he and Jess elope while we were there," he said, a small shadow passing over his face as he said it.

There were pictures of Jess too, but Charlie had less to say about these, simply when the event in question took place. All the same, John found himself staring at these ones most of all. She seemed so... happy. They both did, whenever they were in photos at the same time. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault they were no longer together.

Eventually they reached the last couple of pages. The second last page showed just Sam, holding up a letter. Underneath it was the words, scrawled in a different handwriting:

'_Sam the genius – 174 on his LSATS!'_

John felt a swell of pride at this, although in truth he knew that he was in no way responsible for his son's brilliant LSATs score, nor any other part of his life over the last six years.

The picture was accompanied by another, smaller and inset, this time of a party. In the background there was a banner reading, '_Congratulations, Sam_,' with a messily drawn picture of a gravel – the type a judge used – next to it. It was the foreground of the picture, however, that drew John's attention. Smiling up at the camera were Sam and Jess, holding hands. They were both wearing engagement rings.

"That was taken the day after he proposed," said Charlie softly. "We all held a big party for them – a joint party for Sam's LSATs and their engagement. They were so happy." Reaching over, he closed the book, but not before John caught a glimpse of the last page.

It was fully decorated, but with an empty place for a photo still there.

As they left the house, John felt the weight of the past six years bearing down on him. Guilt – a hitherto unknown emotion for him, except in regard to Mary's death – clogged his throat, and he didn't say a word as he got into the Impala and drove off. Dean sat next to him, offering joking comments about the photos, but John did not respond and remained staring at the road in front of him.

Sam had had such a full life over the last six years, all of it without him. John had always acted like that was such an unworthy aim, to want a normal life – like Sam was an idiot for even wanting such a thing – yet somehow the boy had managed to achieve it. At only sixteen, he'd run away, fully prepared to be all on his own rather than with his family... _God, it's all my fault..._

But he hadn't been alone. He'd made friends, and excelled within the life he'd chosen. And for that, John was proud of him. What father wouldn't be proud – seeing these people, meeting them, knowing how well his son had done? Even if John had had nothing to do with that, he was still so proud of Sam for it.

_And he was going to grow up, be a lawyer, get married, have children... be _normal_... if it weren't for that goddamn demon..._

As he drove out of the street where Res's house was, John promised himself once more that he was going to kill that demon. But now, he did it not only for Mary, for the life he'd had that had been torn away, but for Sam, too.

John was willing to do almost everything in his power to help Sam live the normal life he'd always wanted, and never fully been able to have...

Because, for the first time in his life, John understood why he wanted it.


End file.
